


safeword is pancakes

by birdsandivory



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Childhood Friends, Emotional Baggage, Falling In Love, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Porn With Plot, Sex Toys, Switching, also known as the vibrator au, fingers everywhere, might be a good time to mention that this is an office au, pushing my dimilix slash claudevain brotp agenda hardcore, yet there is so much emotion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28658643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsandivory/pseuds/birdsandivory
Summary: “This isn’t funny”—Dimitri’s voice rises in volume with every word he speaks. “I don’t even know how tousethings like this!”Sylvain doesn’t know what overcomes him in that moment, what kind of universal force steers him down the path to destiny, but whatever right mind he has spirals completely out of his control because he suddenly—and ever so casually—says:“Want me to show you?”ORSylvain and Dimitri; one pal teaching another the wonders of the vibrating rabbit.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert & Dedue Molinaro, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester & Claude von Riegan
Comments: 16
Kudos: 69





	safeword is pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> after a long while of sitting on this idea, here is the first installment of my dimivain office au! there is pining, feelings, and porn in literally every single chapter. so, i hope you all enjoy all this good stuff i have going on here. also, as an aside, i know dimitri's birthday is the 20th. i've taken the liberty of fudging that detail slightly, so don't kill me for it.
> 
> anyway, i will be updating this as soon as humanly possible! i do have to finish fics for three big bangs, but this is right up after those, so fear not. i won't have you waiting too long for updates.
> 
> on that note, i'd like to thank the employees in my office building for being so quirky, they were a big inspiration for this fic. and [lily](https://twitter.com/SimplyLilyyy) for letting me use an embarrassing moment in her life. and [manda](https://twitter.com/amirah_leigh) for her PERFECT opinions. and thank you [kay](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming) and [maki](https://twitter.com/orgiastique) for beta-reading this for me, you're both real ones!

*******

It all starts the night of the company holiday party.

Sylvain steps into the bottom floor lobby of the gargantuan skyscraper _Blaiddyd_ not two hours after he left it—the only difference between then and now is that he’s a little more relaxed after a preemptive beer and dressed to the required nines. He cleans up pretty good, he thinks, though he’d much rather be in a pair of jeans no matter how perfect his ass looks in the slate-gray dress pants he’s wearing. 

A crowd of suits and cocktail dresses greets him at the door, the reception hall’s occupants spilling out into the lobby. It’s about as crowded as he can expect it to be during the barely-hanging-on daylight hours, cut loose and wild once the clock-out cards are punched. Everything sparkles and shines in front of him—sequins and champagne glasses and _eyes_ alight with excitement—brighter than you’d think a construction company could ever be.

It feels like stepping into a new world.

The whole inside of the building’s painted royal blue and silver, down to the ornaments on a too-huge Christmas tree their beloved company president _lightly suggested_ the event planning committee put funds toward purchasing with those great, big puppy-dog eyes of his. 

Really, it’s like Dimitri has no idea how wrapped around his little finger everyone is.

It’s a stunning sight, though, he’ll give it that. That committee of his sure has an aesthetic eye, everything so tasteful that even a parade of dresses in red, green, and every color in between look like glittering little Christmas lights dancing across the floor. Laughter adds to the merry beat of the DJ’s playlist (of course _Baby, It’s Cold Outside_ is only required until the sun goes down) and the constant clinking of glasses makes it look like a real party.

But Sylvain doesn’t stick around.

He has no business here—yet.

Instead, he scans the I.D. hanging from the lip of his suit pocket and walks into the elevator, counting one second per floor until he makes it to the very top. All of his coworkers should be gathered there by now, enjoying a smaller, more personal party thrown just for them. It’s an annual thing they’ve got going—something that feels less like an obligatory end-of-the-work-year, pretend-you-like-your-colleague (from whatever floor), fake laugh extravaganza and more like a family gathering.

They’re all coming together for Secret Santa.

This year’s a little special, though. Dimitri (who is not only their boss, but everyone on the top floor’s decades-old friend) lives with the unfortunate fact that his birthday falls on Christmas Eve every year. And every year, he is subjected to a few scattered _Happy Birthdays_ before the sound of everybody else opening their presents drowns out what should be more of a celebration. 

So, this time around, since Dimitri’s always gone out of his way to make sure the whole floor’s got a few vacation days and a nice holiday bonus—always counts himself out of the fun stuff when there aren’t enough matches to go around, too—Mercedes in HR came up with the idea to assign Dimitri to, well...

Everyone.

Not that he minds, really; on the contrary.

Sylvain loves this kind of thing. Not gift-giving, per se, though he can be generous here and there if he feels like it, but opportunity. And this is an opportunity if he ever saw one... to bring joy to others, of course, not for his own selfish amusement or anything like that. Absolutely not. 

It’s Sylvain’s Christmas wish to spread cheer to everyone this holiday season, is all.

Which is why he’s all too giddy to give Dimitri the package he’s got tucked lovingly under his arm. Not only is it the kind of gift anyone would love, but he thinks the reaction he’ll get when Dimitri opens it will be well worth it. 

Sylvain grins, stares down at his perfectly wrapped baby blue box—mentally pats himself on the back.

Picking the perfect present is a gift, after all.

He doesn’t linger on its contents as the elevator dings and the doors open; that will come later. Instead, he decides to build up to the main event of embarrassi— _showing_ Dimitri how much he appreciates him through the act of gift-giving by indulging in one of his favorite practices.

Annoying Felix.

“Took you long enough.” Felix looks like a 2 A.M. gremlin on the couch in the corner of the lobby he steps into, the small box on his lap bouncing with his leg. “You were making the party planners anxious. You know they _sing_ when they’re anxious.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

“I _don’t..._ when Ashe joins in,” Felix sighs with a grimace. “One more duet about cakes from them and I’m gonna—”

“Sylvain!” Annette appears at his side and Felix quite gloriously shuts his trap, lest he offend the top floor’s own beloved songstress. Sylvain grins; what power she holds over his grumpy best friend.

“Hey, Annette,” he says. “Lookin’ like a million bucks.”

She puts her hands on her hips, craning her neck back to look up at him funnily and squinting her eyes at the compliment. “We were wondering when you were going to show up—even Hilda was earlier than you are!” 

“Yeah, sorry about that. Got caught up in traffic.” It’s a big, fat lie—he just can’t be bothered to pause halfway through an episode of _Once Upon a Time._

“Well, everybody’s here now—finally!” Annette claps her hands together, sways her body cutely in place. She fixes Sylvain with a huge smile, and he thinks she could get him excited for a trip to the grocery store with the energy she’s radiating. “This is going to be _so_ fun!”

“You’re excited,” Sylvain says, and then, because there’s a pot to be stirred: “Got any new party songs?”

Felix groans behind them.

“I’ve thought up a few, but it’s not about the songs tonight,” Annette reminds him. “Besides, I’m saving them for the party downstairs.”

Ah, right. The _real_ party.

“Anyway, we’re going to surprise Dimitri with cake and presents in the breakroom, so you just relax until we call you in, okay? It’s a mess in there right now.” 

“Sure thing.” Annette nods politely and goes for a box she must’ve set on the ground earlier—heavy looking and full of what is most definitely glass. Sylvain pulls a hand from his pocket when she wobbles, holding the box from underneath until she gets a better grip on it. “Uh, you sure you don’t need any help with this?”

“Nope! I’ve totally—” She juggles a bit, the sound of ornaments and whatever else shaking as she laughs to herself, catching her balance. “I’ve got it!”

“I’ll help her,” Felix’s voice cuts in, and Sylvain almost chides him for his grumpy wall-flowering in the midst of a future crisis. But he stops himself because, for once, Felix’s lips are quirked up just a smidge with amusement and his eyes are crinkling something soft. It’d be a crime to ruin such a good look on him. 

Felix takes the lip of the box, curling his other arm underneath. “Come on, Annie. Let me have it.”

“I can handle it,” she sighs, letting go of the box anyway. Annette pouts a little despite herself, but her glossy lips curl into a smile when she looks up at Sylvain one last time. “See you soon, okay?”

“You got it, _Annie._ ” Sylvain smiles, waving lazily. “See ya.”

He watches her go, her heels clacking as she rushes to catch up with Felix, who’s already started for the breakroom. They really are kind of cute, he thinks. Felix must be happy, walking off together with Annette as she hums quietly under her breath.

Sylvain cards a hand through his hair, turning to walk down a hall of offices and boardrooms with no real destination in mind. 

Maybe he should just kill time at his desk.

The twenty-third floor’s no blue-silver lobby, but it’s got a charm of its own. Sylvain doesn’t think there’s another place in the building like it. Every cubicle is decorated with Christmas flair—whether the person who sits there wants it to be or not—handmade ornaments and mug cozies personalized to taste on every single desk. Most of it is Annette’s handiwork, for sure, but signs of Mercedes, of Ashe, and even Dedue can be found in every corner of the room. 

It’s a lived-in space without the decorations, but he has to admit that something about the effort put in by everyone during the holidays really makes it feel like home.

Sylvain likes to think it’s because the people he works with aren’t just coworkers.

This place is filled with all of his closest friends.

All of them except Felix, of course.

The guy just _had_ to be a special flower and work in sales (as an analytics operator—no one would be crazy enough to send him to go and _talk_ to people).

Sylvain’s pretty sure Dimitri would’ve saved him a spot with the rest of them, though, if it wasn’t for the fact that Felix insisted he didn’t play favorites and Dimitri has a moral compass that only points north. The top floor is reserved for the company’s contracting supervisors and financial department—which means Felix is all the way on the thirteenth and has successfully escaped Sylvain’s daily onslaught of paper balls and inappropriate sticky note messages until he’s promoted. 

He throws an arm over one of the walls of his cubicle.

That’ll be the day. 

“Hey, stranger,” a light, airy voice greets from behind him, and Sylvain turns to see Mercedes smiling up at him despite the two inches her high heels give her.

“Mer- _ce_ -des,” he says with a flirtatious lilt. “You’re looking ravishing tonight.”

She really is. Her fingernails are painted prettily and her short bob curls at the ends more than usual. She’s in a tight little number that tapers at the knees and sparkles almost as much as her eyes do. It shows off her gorgeous figure, soft and full, but modestly covers the curves of her breasts down to her thin wrists in sheer, tasteful fabric. Sylvain finds her unbelievably beautiful—always has—and though he favors the soft pastels she likes to wear against her skin, he can’t deny that she’s a vision in red. 

Mercedes laughs softly, a short, sweet little thing as the tips of her fingers brush her pink lips. “Why, thank you,” she says. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

“What can I say?” Sylvain spreads his arms out before letting them fall against his sides with a light slap. “Annette send you to come round up the stragglers?”

“She did. Everything’s good to go, so it’s about time we got into place. Our guest of honor should be arriving soon,” she answers cheerfully. “You didn’t catch him on the way, did you?”

“Nope,” and then, “I’m guessing he’s not in his office?”

“We asked Lorenz if he could drag their meeting out a little bit longer, so he’s been in the boardroom all afternoon.”

“Lorenz is the chatty guy from design, right? Dimitri’s number two in like— _everything._ ” Mercedes nods. “Gotcha. Is he coming?”

“No, unfortunately, he has other plans.” _Figures,_ Sylvain thinks. At this point, he’s pretty sure he’ll never meet Dimitri’s apparent ace player. “There are a few others like him who couldn’t make it—they came in earlier to leave behind a few gifts for Dimitri before heading out.”

“Only the best for His Majesty,” he says with mock sincerity, grabbing his own gift to add to the pile and giving it a shake. The wisp of a red ribbon catches his eye, and he sets Dimitri’s present aside, lighting up with interest at the sight of another on his desk.

“He deserves it,” Mercedes counters. And he does. Even if Sylvain does bust his chops more than he should, it’s never lost on anyone how highly he actually thinks of Dimitri. He deserves people showering him with gratitude. He’s a stand-up guy. 

The proof is in the red-on-red gift box Sylvain picks up from his desk, just small enough to sit on one of his palms. It’s neatly wrapped, but the ribbon’s been pulled a little too tight and its tails are uneven, frayed. 

Sylvain knows, even though there isn’t a tag with his name attached to it, that it’s from Dimitri.

“Oh! Dimitri went and said he’d sit out of Secret Santa, but he still got everyone a little something specific to their tastes.” Mercedes sighs, looking up at Sylvain with a warm smile. “He really is a dear, isn’t he?”

“A real sweetheart,” Sylvain quips teasingly.

Mercedes lightly swats his arm.

“It’s almost time, everyone! Let’s get to the breakroom,” Ashe calls from the double doors leading out into the hall, and it’s not until Dedue follows him out from their small top-floor lobby that Sylvain even realizes there were people other than himself lounging around the office in the first place.

“Oh, goodness,” Mercedes bites the knuckle of one of her slender fingers. “I went and got distracted from my job.”

“Can’t blame you,” Sylvain shrugs. “I’m a pretty worthwhile distraction.”

Mercedes shoots him a look before making like a very cute and unimpressed tree, and Sylvain decides as he sets down Dimitri’s gift to him that being late twice is never a good look on anyone.

Not even him.

* * *

When Annette takes center stage in the breakroom, Sylvain knows there’s no questioning just who’s in charge. She’d been flitting about, earlier, chirping out orders like the songbird she is, but everything’s come together nicely because of her hard work (color Sylvain impressed, but so far, every dish and ornament’s survived the evening). 

Wringing her fingers together, she gives the room one last once-over.

“Is everyone ready?”

“Sure are!” Ashe answers cheerily, and Sylvain has to tilt his head as far left as possible to spot him, unintentionally hidden between Dedue and a tall stack of dessert boxes.

“Alright! When Dimitri comes in, let’s all be sure to shout ‘surprise’, okay? Mercie, did you find the candles?”

Annette clicks her way over to Mercedes and it’s obvious then just how well they coordinate, two Christmas beacons in green frills and red sparkles, counting out thirty colorful sticks for Dimitri’s birthday cake.

“Awh, there’s only twenty-nine!” Annette pouts. 

“There are more in the cabinet above the coffee machine,” Felix says flatly, navigating the kitchenette better than the lot of them despite not even working on this floor. He hands the box he finds to Annette, who throws a fist up into the air victoriously.

“Where is the birthday boy anyway?” Felix adds.

“We sent Claude to go pick him up and bring him here.” Ingrid, who Sylvain’s noticing for the first time tonight—probably because she’s unrecognizable—says from her spot at the center table. Her long, straight hair is curled in a way that doesn’t suit her, and she looks uncomfortable in her sequined white dress, constantly pulling it down over her tightly-closed knees. “They should be arriving any minute.”

Someone painted her face for the event, all soft-shadowed eyes and baby pink lips; the evidence points to Mercedes and Annette. Their make-up matches hers to the letter.

“What do you mean we ‘sent’ Claude? He pretty much volunteered,” Hilda remarks from her perch on the kitchenette counter beside Dedue, who looks put-off by her hand gestures that nearly slap him in the face as he unboxes a few different kinds of desserts. “They get along so well after breaking it off, you’d think they’d just kiss and make up already.” She reaches into her pink clutch, pulls out a tube of strawberry lip gloss. “But, I guess it’s better than the alternative. I was worried they were never gonna talk to each other again.”

“You were just afraid of losing your job because Claude’s your best friend,” Sylvain points out, and Hilda mushes her lips together, smug smile shining after a fresh application.

“Nah, bossman likes me too much.”

“He must,” Felix says with a huff, looking unnecessarily annoyed, or maybe perfectly necessary. Sylvain knows Hilda pretty well after all these years, but Felix has to deal with her outside of work one hundred percent more than he does. “You shamelessly put off your work, but you still get away with it.” 

“Don’t be mean!” Hilda hops off the counter and shoves her hands onto her hips, pushing into his personal space. “Is that any way to talk to your sister?”

“My brother marrying yours does _not_ make us siblings.”

“Actually, Fe,”—Sylvain juggles his hands with a high-pitched hum—“it kinda does.” 

“Shut up.”

“Quiet,” Dedue says from the kitchenette, nodding towards two figures passing by the breakroom’s textured window. “He’s here.”

Annette follows with a loud whisper. “Everyone get ready!” 

The room is quiet then, nothing but muffled chatter filtering through the breakroom door. Sylvain’s lips twitch at the noble quality of Dimitri’s laughter, contagious in a way that has several of them covering their mouths to keep from giggling.

“After you,” Claude offers oh-so politely as the door opens wide, and Dimitri’s smiling face appears from the other side, eyes going wide behind the loose fringe of his pulled-back hair as the room erupts into a unified cheer.

_**“Surprise!”** _

Dimitri stands stunned in the doorway, looking over at a grinning Claude for an explanation. 

Claude gives him jazz hands instead. “Surprise.” 

“What’s this?” He laughs under his breath, a little confused. Mercedes steps toward him with a warm smile, clasping her hands together. 

“It’s your birthday party, of course.” _Silly boy,_ Sylvain can almost hear her say.

“Yeah!” Annette smiles brightly—this really is her show isn’t it? “We decided that you’d be everyone’s Secret Santa this year!”

Dimitri looks taken aback. “Everyone’s?”

“Well, _ours_ anyway.” Sylvain winks. 

“You do so much for us”—Mercedes takes Dimitri’s hand in both of hers—“and we know you’re working overtime so we can take the holiday off. We just wanted to thank you for that.”

“Well, that’s hardly a reason to give up your Secret Santa...” he trails off, flinching when a loud ‘ugh’ and the sound of quick footsteps follow.

“Would it _kill_ you to celebrate your birthday?” 

“Felix—”

“Just shut up,” Felix huffs, shoving a dark blue box into Dimitri’s hands, “and say ‘thank you’.”

“Y-Yes...” He stares warmly at Felix, who doesn’t let go of the gift until Dimitri takes it, until he drops his shoulders and breaks down with a grateful smile. “Of course—thank you.”

“Awh—Felix!” Hilda squawks, stomping her heel. “You stole my thunder—I wanted to be first gift!”

Felix’s lips crease into a satisfied simper. “I know.”

Dimitri gets a number of lovely things that night. A knitted scarf, a new tie, a documentary box-set— _limited anniversary edition,_ Claude says; all things that happen to tickle his grandpa fancy. Especially that of Mercedes’ sugary-sweet smelling care package of homemade candles and house slippers that had him smiling right down to the bottom of the box.

Felix had gotten him an old, dusty keepsake that made his eyes glisten, though he wisely kept his mouth shut when someone asked him about it, saying it simply reminded him of when he was a kid and left it at that. Dedue handed Dimitri something pretty from his homeland that Ashe followed with a gold-leafed book, while Ingrid—remaining practical through-and-through—gifted him a new organizer for his desk and a silver tie clip. 

The number of coffee tins and mugs on the center table grows by the minute.

“Hey, look—you haven’t opened Sylvain’s yet,” Ashe observes, and Sylvain’s lips tug up into a grin when Dimitri catches sight of the gift box still sitting on the table, untouched.

“Oh, it seems I haven’t.” Dimitri’s got a soft, grateful smile on his face that doesn’t fail to make Sylvain antsy with excitement. This is the highlight of his night, he thinks; not drinking himself mad with Claude and Hilda; not bar-hopping with Annette and Mercedes at the after-after party. 

Just watching Dimitri—“It’s heavier than I imagined”—neatly peeling off the wrapping paper—“Really, Sylvain, what’s in here?”—and lifting the lid from the box. 

Sylvain almost chokes on a laugh when his merry babbling comes to a stop.

Dimitri is silent for a long time, which doesn’t go unnoticed by the crowd, his eyes enormously wide as he takes in the contents of the package. 

“What is it?” Annette asks excitedly. 

Sylvain’s amused smile curls into a playful smirk. “Yeah, boss, what is it?”

“It’s nothing!” He slams the top back onto the box with enough force to bend the cardboard, planting his hands over the compromised lid as he fumbles his words, everyone in the room casting him curious glances. “R-Really, it’s—it’s nothing.”

“With that kinda reaction, you’d think it was something naughty,” Sylvain remarks—because he can’t help but misbehave.

“ _Ooh,_ is it?”

“Annette, _please!_ ” Dimitri slides a hand over his face. His first mistake, really, because Annette gets her tiny fingers on the crushed box, pulling it swiftly from Dimitri’s grasp and tossing the top onto the sofa beside her with a huge grin. 

Sylvain’s eyes don’t leave Dimitri’s face, how the subtle strawberry pink of his blush blooms into a deep, dark red, and his eyes somehow grow bigger as she rifles through a copious amount of tissue paper. 

Annette’s eyes are practically _sparkling._ “It’s a rabbit!”

Claude knocks his knee against Sylvain’s with a snicker. “You bad boy.” 

“I’m lost,” Ingrid cuts in, makes a face. “A what?”

“You know,”—Mercedes tips her head side to side with a smile—“a _toy._ ”

All the girls (plus Ashe, minus Ingrid, who looks like someone just spat in her drink) erupt into a fit of giggles.

“That’s it, I’m outta here,” Felix huffs as he pushes himself off the sofa, making sure to smack Sylvain’s arm with a grumbled ‘filthy’ before he grabs a bottle of bourbon from the refreshment table. Dedue follows him out with a bowed, blushing head, picking up two glasses on the way.

“ _Et tu_ , Dedue?” Sylvain calls.

Dedue sighs out an irritated (for him) “not today, Sylvain.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Weak!” Annette adds, cupping her hands around her lips as she turns in the direction of Felix’s retreating back. “ _Weak!_ ”

Hilda joins her in the stick-in-the-mud-shaming, and Sylvain idly wonders how badly his enjoyment of life would suffer without them while Mercedes goes on about how to _use toys safely_ and _if you decide to use it, it can be a great stress reliever!_ He pays special attention to Dimitri in the midst of the chaos, who’s torn between being mortified by her ease in talking on the subject and batting Claude’s grabby hands off him and the box he’s currently sitting on. 

Meanwhile, Sylvain leans back in his seat, content with watching the world burn.

* * *

The commotion dies down after Mercedes saves the day, suggesting that Dimitri open another present since he still has a few more to go. And even though his show ended earlier than he wanted it to, Sylvain thinks his gift is going to be the talk of the top floor for _weeks._

They all split off after that, spread throughout their department. Ashe and the girls are party-gaming, which he reminds himself to be sure to join once someone brings out the shot glasses, and Dedue is chatting with Felix on the sofa in the elevator lobby. Sylvain’s not sure when it happened, but those two sure spend a lot more time with each other nowadays. An unlikely friendship, but not one he can complain about. 

Felix is a lot less likely to start arguments with Dedue over nothing—so it’s a win-win for everyone. 

And Dimitri is...

“Boy, you really stirred up trouble tonight,” Claude says with a wink, tapping his mug full of not-coffee to Sylvain’s chest, a few bubbles wetting the lapels of his unbuttoned suit jacket. He shrugs it off, tossing it over the nearest chair. “Really ruffled those feathers. Ingrid wasn’t even the giftee and she keeps throwing daggers at you every time you walk by.”

“She’ll get over it,” Sylvain retorts, rolling up his sleeves. Much better.

“I dunno—she’s still mad at me for that prank I pulled on her birthday.”

“What? Wrapping up her monitor, keyboard, and every pencil, stapler, and calculator on her desk was _genius._ ”

“I know!”

“I think you two are missing the point there.”

Dimitri’s a sight, Sylvain notes when he spins around and sees him standing there. His suit’s just as white and blue and silver as the rest of the building, and despite the fact that he won’t look Sylvain in the eye, he still bears a certain confidence befitting of his seat as company president. He looks good—but a guy like him looks good in anything; he’s like some dangerously handsome idol. Sylvain can confirm that from years of rooming with him in college. Even bedhead and crusty eyes didn’t stop heads from turning. 

With a laid-back smile, he shoves his hand onto his hip. “I think we’ve got the point just fine.”

“Hell yeah we do,” Claude supplies. Dimitri gives him a wary look, and he raises his hands in surrender, the sloshing of his glass foretelling of another spill. “All right, all right—but missing the point is fun and you know it.”

“Tell that to the clean-up crew,” Dimitri replies dryly, letting the conversation go stale with his sudden silence and unsure looks. Sylvain has a _tiny_ hunch that he’s still frazzled about the vibrator thing. 

“Need something, boss?” He asks mercifully, though his voice is a playful lilt. 

“Sylvain, can I speak with you for a moment—in my office?” Dimitri looks around in such an obvious way that Sylvain tingles in anticipation of the conversation to come, every teasing one-liner he knows in single-file on his tongue. 

“Of course you may, Mr. Blaiddyd,” he responds all too cheerfully, turning to give Claude a two-fingered salute before noticing that he’s already halfway to Hilda and Ingrid across the room. Not even a goodbye. 

Or a _‘good job.’_

Sylvain follows Dimitri back into their main office, and then, into the adjoining suite where a pile of presents have accumulated messily atop one of Dimitri’s guest chairs. Shutting the door with the push of an elbow, he leans against it with a devious, self-satisfied grin. 

“So, am I in trouble?” He asks, just to get the ball rolling.

A blue gift box is suddenly thrust his way.

“Here,” Dimitri says, looking anywhere _but_ Sylvain. “I simply can’t accept this.”

“Returning a heartfelt gift from one of your pals?” Sylvain plays offended, splaying a hand over his heart. “Your Majesty, this hurts my feelings.”

Dimitri only looks like he feels half-guilty. “This kind of gift is...” He lowers his arm for a moment before shaking his head, shoving the box into Sylvain’s chest. “Take it back.”

“No can do.” Raising both hands, Sylvain takes a step back, enjoys the flash of annoyance that lights up Dimitri’s eyes. He sucks his teeth, hissing through them with an exaggerated shrug. “No returns on goodies like this, you know.”

“Sylvain, this isn’t funny. I don’t... I _can’t_ —!” Dimitri’s voice rises in volume with every word he speaks, the next more of a stuttering mess than the last before he huffs out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t even know how to _use_ things like this!”

Sylvain doesn’t know what overcomes him in that moment, what kind of universal force steers him down the path to destiny, but whatever right mind he has spirals completely out of his control because he suddenly—and ever so casually—says:

“Want me to show you?”

It’s out of his mouth before he knows it. So, in true Sylvain J. Gautier fashion, he rolls with it.

“Excuse me?” Dimitri looks positively scandalized.

“Come on, Dimitri,” Sylvain insists, and the way Dimitri’s name feels foreign on his tongue reminds him how long it’s been since they’ve had a normal conversation. “Doesn’t this excite you even a little bit?”

“No!” The answer is lout—a pitch or two higher than the normal tenor—and Dimitri clamps his mouth shut, his blush so red, Sylvain can practically feel the heat radiating off him like a living furnace. “I...” he begins, softer now, looking at Sylvain for once. “I just—don’t _open_ it!”

Sylvain does exactly what he’s told not to, pulling the cotton candy blue vibrator from its comfy padded home, flocking at the two curved rabbit ears protruding from the base of its silicone cock.

“Just check it out,” he insists, grabbing one of Dimitri’s hands and pressing the toy into his palm, grinning when his fingers reflexively close around it. “The color, the gentle curves—the _length._ ” Sylvain swings an arm around Dimitri’s shoulders. “I just made an educated guess. I wasn’t sure how big you liked them.”

Dimitri, surprisingly, doesn’t say anything to that. He stares down into his hand with barely-disguised interest instead, the tips of his ears a festive red. Now, _this_ is a reaction he wasn’t expecting. Sylvain draws in his bottom lip at the sight, brows pinching as his teeth drag over it, releasing it with a wet-kiss pop.

He reaches between them and presses one of the vibrator’s pretty blue buttons, paying close attention when Dimitri’s even prettier eyes light up in wonder as the toy buzzes and thrums between his fingers. Sylvain’s lips quirk. “You like that, huh?”

“I—” Dimitri withdraws, clicking the button only for the rabbit to vibrate faster— _louder_ —and he makes a distressed sound at the back of his throat, pressing the power button frantically until it finally shuts off. “I don’t know about this.”

“I’m just saying I’m happy to help.” Pulling off Dimitri, Sylvain shrugs. “We’re buds, after all.” And then, because Dimitri looks like he’s going to explode if Sylvain says anything else on the subject, he tries to defuse the conversation with a “hey, you know I’m just joking—”

“What if I say ‘yes’?”

Sylvain feels like he’s just gotten the wind knocked out of him, but if he’s good for one thing, it’s recovering quickly. 

“Then I’m interested.” Maybe two things, if indulging in his whims counts. “What _do_ you say?”

For a second, Sylvain can only hear the thunderous sound of his pulse, the throb of it behind his temples. Dimitri’s eyes flicker up at him, toy in his hand and dressed all pretty in that suit like he suddenly has the right to look the least bit attractive after asking a question like that.

And then, he looks away, clears his throat.

“Yes.”

* * *

Dimitri heads back to the party after slipping a post-it note with his address scribbled down into Sylvain’s hand, leaving him behind to mull over this unexpected turn of events. And it’s not until the speakers loop back to the top of Annette’s playlist and _All I Want For Christmas_ fills the room that he asks himself if he just got reverse-propositioned by _Dimitri._

Of all people.

Despite that, Sylvain’s lips are creased up into an amused, closed-mouth smile. He shoves his hands and the post-it into his pockets, kicking open the cracked door to Dimitri’s office and stepping into the maze of work cells once again. Dimitri’s nowhere to be seen, but Sylvain didn’t think he’d wait for him anyway. There’s only so much that can be expected of him after that conversation.

_My, my, my._

How did he get here?

He passes by the cubicles thoughtfully slow, every decoration keeping his mind innocent—keeping it clean. Sylvain focuses on getting back to the party; on drinking over this conversation a little, maybe making fun of Felix’s horrid intolerance, playing a little _adult_ never-have-I-ever with Hilda and the girl gang (plus Claude). A flash of shimmering red captures his attention instead, and he pauses beside his cubicle, the present Dimitri got him still wrapped up on his desk.

Huh. He’d almost forgotten about it.

Suddenly, his desire to party is replaced by his curiosity, and he throws himself into his chair, picking up the little red box and turning it in his hands before tugging at one of the ribbon tails. It comes apart easily, tangles in his fingers as he drops it into a messy pile on his desk and makes quick work of tearing the wrapping paper.

He’s never been a patient gift-opener.

Sylvain pulls off the top of the cardboard square underneath, tipping it over his hand and shaking it until it rattles. A small, black cube falls into his palm. 

_Smooth,_ he thinks. 

It’s composed of even smaller cubes—four in all—connected by moveable metal screws. Sylvain shoves his thumb between two of them, brows rising when it gives and the cubes split apart, snapping back together magnetically when he pulls his finger away. 

It’s an infinity cube.

He used to have one just like it in high school; a fidget toy that would help him pass the time when he was bored, center him when he was anxious. Sylvain, despite going to the same schools as Dimitri since they were seven and eight, doesn’t know why he thought to gift him this—something he hasn’t seen or used since midterms and finals were a thing.

And he can’t begin to wonder its significance, since Dimitri always has a feelings-laden reason for everything—which is definitely not and will never be something Sylvain doesn’t appreciate.

“Huh,” he sighs, turning the cube in his hands. 

He plays with it for the next hour.

**—0—0—0—**

Sylvain dips from the office early.

He’s not the least bit upset about missing the good stuff that happens after dark; Ashe’s drinking stunts, Claude’s late-night philosophical conversations, Annette’s vanilla party games turned darkside under Hilda’s influence (though, in her defense, you can’t play charades and _not_ strip). It’s no big deal. He’ll get a sloppy, misspelled text about the shenanigans in the early morning when the sun’s just begun to shine between his window blinds and spammed with the best blackmail photos right before breakfast. So, he won’t be missing much. 

The best party comes New Year’s Eve anyway, everyone knows that.

Besides, Sylvain heard from a reliable source—Ingrid, who wasn’t even a _little_ tipsy by the time he left—that Dimitri bid them all a quiet farewell ages ago. And even if Sylvain’s not sure if that was Dimitri’s way of saying _‘kidding, can’t do this!’_ or _‘I’ll be waiting at home,’_ he doesn’t want to miss just how this will play out. 

Of course, some kind of subtle come-on would’ve been nice, but it is _Dimitri_ he’s talking about here, so he leaves it alone.

Sylvain’s buzzing with excitement at the thought of his own private show he gets to enjoy from the comfort of Dimitri’s apartment. If he doesn’t back out. Part of him is sure Dimitri will politely ask Sylvain if he wants a drink and then push him out the door once he realizes what he’s agreed to. Or maybe he doesn’t think Sylvain will show up at all, that he was just joking and that they’ll both forget about it by the end of the night.

Dimitri did look a little eager, though, and Sylvain’s not above doing a friend a favor.

What’s one guy showing another how to properly use a vibrator?

It’s like work-team bonding.

When he knocks on Dimitri’s apartment door, he expects the normal hi-hellos, maybe even an overly-kind ‘let me take your coat’. But instead of being perfectly normal or perfectly sexy—as the situation calls for (though Sylvain doesn’t know why he’d hope for that when it’s completely off the table for someone like his boss)—Dimitri looks as nervous as he did when he brought Annette into his office to tell her she wouldn't be getting the promotion she’s been dying for.

Which was a shame because the extra money would’ve helped her replace the copy machine she accidentally busted the next day.

But, anyway.

Dimitri invites Sylvain in with a smile despite looking like he’s about to tell his best client that he’s pushing back their project completion date. Though, such a thing would be done while in a crisp, gray suit—with the royal blue button-down and lucky tie—not a dressed down, cozy two-piece pajama set and the house slippers from Mercedes that already found home on his socked feet. 

It’s cute. Adorable even. And so reminiscent of their college days that Sylvain can’t help but smile.

Dimitri never really changes.

Sylvain takes the chance to make fun of his fuzzy ensemble, of course, gleefully noticing the lion design patched onto the top of his slippers—over-exaggerated and cartoonish.

“Don’t be rude. This was a lovely gift,” Dimitri mutters, moving aside so Sylvain can step out of the hall and into the apartment. Which is just as big as he expected for the huge complex he lives in, but much more homey than lavish. As if Dimitri only bought just what he needed and nothing more. There are a few pictures on the walls; dated, from years and years ago. Sylvain recognizes Dimitri’s parents in one or two of them, smiling with a too-blond little boy.

Nosing around curiously, he steps into the open living room. Everything there is just the same as the front entrance and the kitchen. Neat. Organized. _Blue._

“Nice place,” Sylvain compliments. Dimitri almost immediately relaxes. 

“Thank you,” he says politely. “I’m surprised and ashamed, really. It’s been nearly a year since I’ve moved in and I’ve yet to invite you all over.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “I’m just glad I get to be the first—think Felix will be jealous?”

“I doubt Felix will be anything but annoyed with you for trying to get a rise out of him.”

“You got me there.”

The small talk goes stale fast, but before Sylvain can open his mouth to say something that would hopefully break them out of this middle place, he’s beaten to the punch.

“Would you like a drink?” Dimitri asks.

Not what he was hoping for, but exactly what he expected. 

Sylvain takes it.

“Sure.”

It’s grapefruit juice. Dimitri gets him a cup of grapefruit juice in a short glass that should be holding something a little stronger and a little more fitting for the earth-shattering event of Sylvain getting into his pants. Though, he guesses it would be more correct to say it’s really only superficially. 

The rabbit gets to have all the fun.

“So, how do we go about... this?” Dimitri asks after Sylvain throws back his juice, untactful and straight to the point. “What are the terms?”

“You never take a break, do you?” Sylvain leans back in his chair, trying to keep the conversation light, keep Dimitri from making this more difficult than it needs to be. “You know, you don’t have to act like we’re signing a contract here,” he adds with a shrug and a smile. “It’s just me.”

Dimitri takes pause and sighs. “You’re right.” He presses the tips of his fingers to the side of his cup, turning it clockwise as he talks. “It’s just that these days I can’t seem to get out of work mode.”

“That’s because you do the work of, like, five people,” Sylvain points out, elbows propped on the tabletop. “It’s cool, though, because we’re gonna fix that.”

There’s another long pause, and Sylvain wonders just how many ‘long pauses’ he’s going to endure before the night is over and done with. _Probably many,_ he decides, especially when Dimitri looks at him again from across the table, lips mushing together nervously. 

“Right.” 

* * *

It takes twenty-five minutes of fumbling through the world’s most awkward conversation (not even about the subject at hand—Dimitri nervously started talking about stocks like the businessman he is) before they’re sitting on Adrestian cotton sheets and Sylvain’s rummages through the gift box. The vibrator’s sitting pretty on a nice, fluffy pillow beside him while Dimitri picks at the cotton of his nightshirt and stares at the box like Sylvain’s going to pull out a leash and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs.

Which is not an unappealing idea, but this isn’t _Cinemax: After Dark._

“What are you looking for?”

“Oh, the— _aha!_ ” Sylvain grins in triumph and lifts out a tiny squeeze bottle. “Found it.” He tosses it to Dimitri, who looks a little intimidated by the glittery label. 

“This was in there the entire time?”

“Uh—yeah,” Sylvain says, as if it should be common knowledge that all gifted sex toys automatically come with birthday-cake-flavored lube. “If you actually looked inside the box, you would’ve found that I’m _very_ generous with my presents. There’s even an extra pack of batteries.”

He thinks he sees a glimpse of the Dimitri they all know and love: wary and a touch unimpressed. “I see.”

“Look, it won’t be so bad once we get going, okay?”

Lips press into a thin line. “How do we start?”

“Well, you could strip. That would help.”

Dimitri does, painfully slow. He slides off his slippers—because _of course_ those would be the first to go, but also, Sylvain can’t really believe they made it to the bedroom in the first place. That silly detail is forgotten the moment Dimitri’s chest comes into view, and Sylvain is suddenly very interested in the way he quietly unbuttons his shirt. 

Normally he enjoys partaking in the fun of getting to strip every layer off of a warm body himself, but there’s something about watching Dimitri take his time that’s undoubtedly appealing. He reveals inch-by-inch of skin in carefully measured steps, every dip folding Sylvain’s tongue over his lips, the slide of silk over hips putting a twitch in his fingers until there’s a pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed and nothing left to the imagination.

Sylvain swallows at the sight of Dimitri’s body stretching back across the sheets.

Now, he’s seen Dimitri in all sorts of embarrassing states back in college—earlier than that—and he’s seen plenty of naked bodies. Even Felix’s, though in a much less sexy situation that ended in dire consequence rather than anything else. 

This is something different entirely. 

It’s completely disarming, how beyond that disastrously handsome face and shiny gold heart, Dimitri looks like _this._ Strong, perfectly proportioned, platinum trails of hair in all the right places. Even his dick is perfect; it’s infuriating. Sylvain doesn’t know if he feels jealous or lucky. 

Though, when Dimitri catches him staring and Sylvain finds out just how far his blush runs, he concludes very quickly that he’s _lucky—definitely lucky._

After all, he can appreciate the finer things in life. 

“Are you going to get undressed?” Dimitri asks, averting his gaze. 

“Oh- _ho~_ Well, if you wanted to see me naked...”

“Not everything! Just—”

“I’m kidding, I gotcha. You should really loosen up.” Sylvain unbuttons his dress shirt, realizing he forgot his jacket at the office as he shrugs it off, letting it hit the floor with his pants that soon follow. He decidedly keeps the briefs on—for boundaries’ sake—all the while thinking that Dimitri’s roaming gaze is lingering a bit too long on someone who’s just barely fit. But Sylvain’s never had any reservations about his body and he’s not about to start now. 

Instead, he gives Dimitri a grin, wags his brows. “Like what you see?”

Lashes flutter and Dimitri looks away. “I apologize.”

“It’s fine. I mean, you see what we’re doing here, right?” Sylvain nudges two long, pale legs apart, sits between them.“Anyway,”—he lets Dimitri’s calf fall across his thigh—“ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Dimitri says, almost calmly, but Sylvain can tell he’s getting a little excited by the way he pushes up onto his elbows, eyes staring intently.

“Sweet.” Reaching for the vibrator, fallen from its comfy perch and into some hidden fold in the sheets, Sylvain assesses where to begin. “Okay, so the safeword is ‘pancakes’.”

“Pancakes?” Dimitri echoes unbelievably. “Why pancakes?”

“I hate pancakes, so it’d be an automatic turn-off.”

“Why do we need a safeword anyway?” Blue eyes flicker up at him warily, blond brows drawing together. “I thought you said this isn’t a contract.”

“Why do you have to ask so many questions?” Sylvain says a little too seriously, letting his sulking lips relax into a smile as he winks. “ _It’s important to remain a creature of mystery._ ” 

“Oh, Goddess.” Dimitri throws a hand over his eyes. “You saw this in a movie, didn’t you?”

“T.V. show, actually,” he corrects. “Or a life guide, if you will.”

Dimitri stares up at him skeptically, and Sylvain thinks he’d feel a lot more heat if he wasn’t so _naked._ “And what is this life guide of yours?”

“Sex and the City.” Sylvain motions with his hands. “There was this sex dungeon episode,” he trails off, not bothering to go into details about a broad in her mid-forties venturing into the BDSM rabbit hole. “You should watch it sometime—you’d learn a lot.”

“About what? Safewords and sex dungeons?”

Sylvain makes a light noise. “Not _exactly._ Samantha never actually _gets_ to the fun sex dungeon stuff or the safeword thing, but, I mean, she was almost Christian Gray’d if you think about it,” he clarifies, though it’s not as if he actually points out any viable examples. “You won’t hear me making a Fifty Shades reference, though—trash movie.” 

Dimitri looks like he’s not at all following, casting Sylvain a curious look. 

“Am I boring you, Your Majesty?”

“No,” Dimitri blinks up at him thoughtfully. “I was just thinking that I feel a lot more comfortable now for some reason.”

Sylvain’s quiet for a second, a little caught off guard by the answer, but he lets it roll right off his shoulder with a smile.

“Whatever works,” he says with a shrug. “Remember, the safeword is ‘pancakes’.”

“I don’t need a safeword,” Dimitri mutters, but the second the vibrator buzzes, he waves his arms in front of him, looking panicked. “Pancakes— _pancakes!_ ”

“Dimitri, can you chill? I haven’t even touched you yet.” And he wants to— _boy_ does he want to—but he holds back for the sake of making progress. “You usually like this?”

Sylvain lets the silence drag on long enough to get his shy, shifty-eyed answer. “Un- _less_ you haven’t even _gotten_ this far.” 

Dimitri’s face pinches.

“Let me guess--”

“ _Sylvain._ ”

“--hand on dick a la Claude _and_ you’ve had one of Yuri’s famous closet blowjobs.”

“How?” And then, eyes bugging comically: “ _Famous?_ ”

Sylvain arches a brow; he must not be aware of that rumor.

“This isn’t news, you know.”

Pale skin flushes dark; Dimitri gathers his bearings. “How do you know that so specifically anyhow?”

“It was prime time gossip at the office,” Sylvain shrugs. “Talked about it for days.” He sits back on Dimitri’s bed, clicking the power button on the vibrator on and off. “Really surprised you didn’t go all the way with Claude, though—figured all that lawyer jargon would really get you going.”

Dimitri looks mortified, shoves a hand over his eyes. “I’m so embarrassed.”

Sylvain rolls his lips together, feeling a little regretful for teasing so much.

“Hey.” Reaching up, he grabs one of Dimitri’s hands, pulling it from his flushed, grumpy face. “Sorry if I went a little too far.”

“No, it’s fine. You all enjoy talking about my sex life in the breakroom—that’s wonderful.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about anyone talking about this,” Sylvain says honestly, though his smug expression seems to leave little room for the truth. “I think I wanna keep it all to myself.”

“Sylvain—”

“ _Relax,_ Dima.” The old nickname seems to soften Dimitri up a little, but not as much as when Sylvain reaches up and brushes his unruly fringe from his face, feeling him practically sink into the mattress at the touch. Really, how did he get so high-strung? “I promise I’m going to take good care of you, so just enjoy it, okay?”

Sylvain doesn’t wait for an answer, thumb clicking down on the first blue button it finds and sucking in his bottom lip at the feel of a gentle thrumming against his palm. He lowers the tip of the rabbit into the soft skin below Dimitri’s naval, huffing through his nose when he flinches at the touch, and lets it pulse it’s way down until it kisses the tip of Dimitri’s cock. 

His body tenses against Sylvain’s thighs, and the way Dimitri’s nose scrunches and his cheeks flush as the vibrator is teased along his sensitive underside has him counting his own teeth with his tongue. 

“Sylvain.” And then, the magic’s over. Sylvain clicks the vibrator off the second Dimitri starts shifting uncomfortably. “Isn’t that supposed to go...?”

“Ever heard of foreplay? It’s like seventy-five percent of the fun,” _for me, anyway._ “And it feels good, doesn’t it?”

Dimitri doesn’t say ‘no’ to that, and Sylvain’s satisfied. 

“We could just get to the good stuff—if you wanna.”

He doesn’t say ‘no’ to that, either, but he does look more nervous than before, as if just thinking about going that far sets him on edge. Sylvain decides on a different approach.

“Hey, though, seriously,” he begins, letting his hands rest on Dimitri’s split thighs. “You’ve never?”

“I... haven’t,” Dimitri looks at him through his lashes and it’s a wonder that he’s unaware of what he’s doing. “Not all the way, anyway.”

“That’s where this comes in, then.” Sylvain reaches across the bed and grabs the lube, dangling it between them. “Now you can do it yourself or...”

“I trust you.”

“A terrible choice, really,” Sylvain jokes, grinning at Dimitri’s sharp look as he sits up on his knees. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint His Majesty.”

Sylvain slicks up his fingers without the addition of lewd gestures (just this once), and with careful consideration, he hooks a hand under one of Dimitri’s knees, surprising him a little when he spreads him wider, letting his coated fingers ghost over the swell of Dimitri’s ass. Sylvain tries not to be too amused by his sensitivity, the sharp gasp he lets out at just the press of a fingertip beyond his ring. 

When Sylvain slips inside, it takes the better part of his self-control to not comment on the ease of his entering. He’s met with little resistance, and even if Dimitri doesn’t say it out loud, His Majesty’s surely found ways to keep himself entertained, _all the way_ or otherwise.

It’s not as awkward of an affair as he thought Dimitri would make it out to be. Not what Sylvain expects—though, he’s not really sure _what_ he expected this to be. It’s a far cry from hot and heavy and feels a lot more like the time he tried (and failed) to teach a twenty-two year-old Dimitri to ride a bike, but there’s still a certain pleasure that comes of it; the whole act. 

Dimitri’s more than a little interesting to look at, of course, and he’s nothing if not agreeable, but the way he goes about this whole thing is kind of endearing.

For one, he has shame, unlike Linhardt from I.T. who has a surprisingly filthy mouth and, despite his laziness, fucks like an insatiable beast. 

But maybe it’s also the way his lips twitch when his hands are too busy curling in the sheets; presses into a line and then relaxes over and over again. The way his breath hitches, pitches up into the heights before it evens out into a low hum because he’s trying not to be so noisy. The way he inhales deeply and exhales shakily whenever Sylvain adds or curls a finger.

Or maybe it was Dimitri’s admission of trust striking a soft chord within him.

Sylvain has half a mind to keep going just like this, to touch and explore on his own for more selfish reasons. Dimitri’s so _receptive,_ Sylvain thinks; the tightening of his stomach and the arching of his back are an enticing show. But he holds back for the sake of getting it back on the road, raising his brows at the soft noise Dimitri makes when he pulls his fingers away. 

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” he teases.

“I—” Dimitri huffs, quieting down when Sylvain reaches over to pick up the vibrator. “Already?”

“You worried or something?” Sylvain gives him a long look. “We can stop.”

“No, I’m ready, I just...” 

Sylvain nods his head, taking his time in grabbing the bottle of lube again, liberally slicking up the shaft of the vibrator. He keeps his eyes on Dimitri, who keeps _his_ eyes on everything Sylvain is doing, only visibly relaxing again when his hands are touching him, fingers running soothingly along the back of his thigh. “Just relax.”

Which is easier said than done, it seems. Because this time when he travels between Dimitri’s legs, he is met with resistance, and it feels like high school prom with his blushing, virginal date all over again. 

Eventually, their lovely, silicone friend is seated inside without too much of a hitch. 

Sylvain braces a hand on Dimitri’s hip, studying the look on his face. “You okay?”

“Just feels... odd.”

“More odd than my fingers?” He clicks his thumb over one of the protruding buttons, not commenting on Dimitri’s lack of an answer. “How about now?” Sylvain asks. His eyes flicker up after a few quiet seconds. “Dima?”

“Ah-mm, I—” It bubbles out of Dimitri’s mouth in short, soft moans, and Sylvain’s eyes brighten as he settles into an even, quiet panting. 

_Quick._

“That’s one of the lower settings, too,” Sylvain brags—because at this point, it can only get better. “Not bad, right?”

“Mhm.”

He bites back a laugh at that, his hands beginning to wander as Dimitri twitches with every breath. Just the slide of his fingers over his thigh, the rub of his palm across his skin in long, pressured motions. 

“Does it feel good when I do this?” Sylvain sweeps his fingers down over a wound-tense stomach when Dimitri nods his head, thumb pressing into the junction that meets his hip. “You’re doing good, just breathe.”

Sylvain’s hand wraps around the base of the vibrator, turning up the speed when he’s satisfied with Dimitri’s soft pants, pressing the fluttering rabbit ears under his balls with a little help from his thumb. It stirs Dimitri up, makes him whimper, and Sylvain can’t help the twitch of his lips when Dimitri asks him to go “faster.”

He listens to his boss like a good employee and skips straight to the highest setting.

A hand shoots up to grab his shoulder suddenly, and Sylvain’s gaze flickers up. He half expects to see Dimitri’s panicked face, but he’s pleasantly surprised by the view he gets instead. Dimitri’s eyes are screwed shut and his sucked-in bottom lip pulls from between his teeth, parting the mouth he’s bitten red himself.

He curls into his core with the passing of every buzzing second, his breaths stuttering from a quick, airy staccato into low, shuddering groans that rise in pitch with every dig of his fingers into Sylvain’s shoulder. One of his legs hook around Sylvain’s hip, heel driving into the small of his back. And he digs into him—digs into every _bit_ of him—but that’s nothing compared to the throbbing hardness between Sylvain’s own legs. 

Dimitri fucks himself down on the vibrator, the roll of his hips grounded by how tightly he’s holding onto Sylvain, who takes to gripping Dimitri’s thighs and helping him ride through the motions. He slips through Sylvain’s fingers here and there, a thin sheen of sweat preventing him from getting a good anchor on his spasming body. Not that Dimitri needs it. He’s wrapped around him like a vice, and Sylvain can do nothing but enjoy the view and try not to think so hard about the way Dimitri’s thigh rubs against the head of his clothed cock.

“I-I can’t—” Desperately, Dimitri reaches down to take himself in his hand, the drag of his uneven pumps putting a burn in Sylvain’s stomach with every pull, and it doesn’t take much until he’s spilling all over himself. Messy and shuddering. Sylvain can feel the way he contracts around the toy mirrored in the achingly tight, pulse-and-release grip of fingers into his skin.

Everything’s still for a moment, save for the rise and fall of Dimitri’s chest and Sylvain’s thumb rubbing circles along his hip as if this were something eternal. At least, he’s almost sure that’s how that quirky barista from the bottom floor coffee shop—Bernadetta—would’ve explained it. 

Eternal in that world-stops-turning kind of way, in that ‘this is the one’ _every day_ kind of way. 

Sylvain knows better than to entertain a thought like that. It’s all friendly and professional: Dimitri shimmying up onto his pillow, the used rabbit being tossed back into its gift box—terms and conditions and all that jazz. And the problem tenting between Sylvain’s legs, of course, to which he sits back and gestures at with a wagging finger.

“Hey, you mind if I...?”

Wet blue eyes blink up at him. “Right here?”

“Should I go?”

“No!” Dimitri says quickly. “Of course not...” He reaches up, rubs at his neck. “It’s only—”

Sylvain puts him out of his misery. “Sweet. I’m always for a good visual aid.” Though, with the way he looks now, Dimitri’s way better than good. Even if it is a little underwhelming when he echoes out a mirthful:

“Whatever works.”

So, there Sylvain is, beating one out as he stares at Dimitri’s sweaty face. He’s delicately pretty for such a big guy, too refined for someone so oversized, but Sylvain eats up every inch of his porcelain skin dusted pink; gets lost in blue eyes he never noticed were so deep (and they’ve seen each other every day for what feels like forever now). He can’t even be bothered to keep his mouth shut, lets it drop as he pants out his satisfaction in heavy, breathy sighs.

Sylvain screws his eyes shut and spills into his hand with a drawn-out groan, fingertips digging into his thigh. When he cracks them back open, Dimitri is staring at him (or what’s between his legs) with interest, lips parted and glistening as if he’s just wetted them with his tongue. And the pleasant tingle that runs down his spine at the attention is nowhere near over-shadowing the sudden off-tempo beat of his heart.

But they’ve just had some fun and it’s just a heartbeat. Sylvain doesn’t let it distract him from helping himself to Dimitri’s toilet, embarrassed stammers of _‘sure, go ahead’_ following him all the way there. 

By the time he gets dressed and Dimitri’s climbed into the shower, it’s slowed down to a steady thrum. Is forgotten when he says ‘bye’ through the bathroom door and the sound of water hitting the shower tiles almost drowns out the hoarse hum of Dimitri’s voice. 

Dimitri immediately tries to accommodate him, but Sylvain waves it off with a laugh and a much more definitive ‘see ya’. It’s not until he gets to the train station and looks at his watch that he thinks it would’ve been better to stay the night; it’s half-past two and now he has to call for a car.

_Ding!_

And there’s Hilda, earlier than usual with the snapshots. 

Sylvain shoves his hands into his pocket. Feels for his phone and finds Dimitri’s infinity cube beneath his fingertips. Remembers parted lips and blue eyes and afterimages that reel through his brain without any warning. And thinks it funny that this night will probably go down in history as some drunken fever dream.

A forbidden workplace tryst, featuring a naughty accountant and his beloved company president.

Or simply Sylvain and Dimitri; one pal teaching another the wonders of the vibrating rabbit.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter.](https://twitter.com/birdsandivory)   
>  [retweet safeword.](https://twitter.com/birdsandivory/status/1348801256622608384)   
>  [fe3h thread.](https://twitter.com/birdsandivory/status/1249699761286000643)


End file.
